


Narcissism 3: Gimme Murder, Gimme Lust

by gimmefire



Series: Narcissism [4]
Category: Green Day, The Network
Genre: BDSM, Bloodplay, Bondage, Branding, Collars, Crack, Crossdressing, Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Objectification, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-14
Updated: 2005-12-22
Packaged: 2017-12-04 00:15:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gimmefire/pseuds/gimmefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"How am I supposed to fix you, my darling?" he whispered.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hungry Like The Wolf

"Oh… _Oh_ …Sweetcake…s-so beautiful…OH-!"

Large, hazel, painted eyes watched this scene. Many pairs did, leering and sparkling in the semi-darkness. So many of them, close together and blinking with a languid speed, countless black smiles, stripes, glittering red…the kind of things you think you see in the forest at night. Whatever made that bird fly off, crying out. Whatever made that rustle. Whatever made that branch snap right behind you. Only here, those things are all around you, you can see them, and still you can't escape.

All these eyes intent on the three bodies in the centre, illuminated by moonlight bleeding in from a high window. Pale skin turned ghostly but for dark bruises and darker bite marks. Red vinyl turned purple and glistening, as if wet. Three bodies, entwined into one writhing mass, a show for all the demons to see.

A barely there gasp, and Billie came. A soft cry followed as teeth found his neck, drawing blood. His eyes did not sparkle.

Countless painted ones did.

And one pair of lips - possibly the most important ones of all, set a little above a black collar - did not curl up into a wicked smile.

  
Billie pushed himself up a little as the satisfied bodies slithered from him. He vaguely registered the drops of blood decorating the ground beside him. His head was jerked backwards suddenly, a leather cord looped around it and thin piece of metal jammed into his mouth.  
  
The bit gag.  
  
The back of his head met vinyl, and he looked up to see black lips split into a wolfish grin.  
  
It was at this point that Fink Two slunk to his feet, approached the two of them and pulled the Fink back by the collar of his jacket.

  
You see, being who he was - the original Fink, leader of the Network, follower of the church of Lushotology, future galactic megastar and ruler of the world - Fink Two had been very busy. Meetings, business trips, promotion, parties, orgies…he hadn't been in their warehouse HQ much, let alone have time to spend with his new boy. In fact, the last time he'd even laid eyes on Billie was over a month ago, just after all the Finks had been created. So, not only did he have no influence over how his little darlings - his children, he supposed - developed, but this Billie…this dead-eyed, living, breathing sex toy that used to be Billie - was a total surprise to him. And not a good one.  
  
The Fink with the bit gag wrapped around Billie's face looked indignantly up at Fink Two.  
  
"Move away." the senior Fink murmured.  
  
The younger Fink saw the collar around his restrainers neck, knowing who he was. He gave a sulky growl and pulled Billie closer against his chest. Fink Two bent down a little.  
  
"I want him." he said slowly. After a pause, he spoke again, fingertips running around the Fink's striped mask. "I'll make it up to you later. _Personally._ "  
  
The Fink pouted a little more before unlooping the bit gag and slinking backwards into the surrounding throng - into the arms of other Finks ready to make it up to him. Fink Two reached for Billie's discarded pants and realised they weren't the ones that he came in with. They were black, but they were vinyl. With a long zip running from the front to the back of the crotch. He arched an eyebrow before handing them to Billie, who accepted them and wordlessly began putting them on. When he was done, Fink Two helped him to his feet and led him towards the staircase. The crowd parted for them, wolf whistles and filthy cackles following. Fink Two couldn't help but smirk a little and give his ass an extra wiggle as he walked.  
  
Reaching the bottom of the staircase, Fink Two came across a roadblock. Fink One, languishing up the steps and eyeing the two of them.  
  
"Mmm…me want in."  
  
Fink Two looked sullenly back at him. He glanced at Billie - whose eyes remained blank and downcast - before tugging at his black vinyl pants and looking questioningly at Fink One. The reclining demon shrugged.  
  
"I can't get our pet a little present?"  
  
A tense pause, and Fink Two looped his arm around Billie's waist, guiding him past Fink One and up the stairs. Fink One hmphed and peeled himself from the steps, sauntering away.  
  
  
As the two entered Fink Two's room, the demon waved Billie over to the currently still rotating bed and closed the door behind them. Billie shuffled over, stripping off his pants and crawling under the covers, waiting in silence. Fink Two dimmed the lights, before sliding off his jacket and tugging off his t-shirt, approaching the bed himself. He stopped only on looking at Billie properly for the first time. Frowning, he slid into bed, tucking his tail behind him.  
  
"Sweetcake…" he murmured. Billie raised his downcast eyes, looking weary, but moved closer and drew his hands up Fink Two's bare chest, nuzzling at his neck.  
  
Fink Two pushed him back, hands on his shoulders, a little bemused.  
  
"It's not all about me…" he trailed off, peering closer at his other half. Marks, purple, red, sickly yellow, bruises all around his neck and shoulders like a wide collar. Damaged skin, sometimes raised into deep red scabs. Swollen, bruised lips, blank eyes, matted black hair growing a little too long…and a few whiteish speckles decorating his cheeks and chin.  
  
Fink Two cupped his face, painted eyes sorrowful.  
  
"My beautiful boy…what has happened to you?" he whispered.  
  
Billie remained silent, utterly unreactive. Just looking right back at Fink Two, waiting dully for instruction. The demon stroked at his cheek with his thumb as he spoke.  
  
"I don't want sex, not this time. I want you to be happy. I want you to be you." he paused, pressing a kiss to his forehead and wiping the black lipstick mark away. "You're probably exhausted. Just…sleep."  
  
Confusion swam in those large hazel eyes. It sparked out quickly, falling back into auto pilot. The obedient pet. He shuffled down under the covers, Fink Two sliding his arms around his torso as he turned over, tucking his legs level and spooning with him. It wasn't long before Billie's breathing evened out. Fink Two remained wide awake, mind sharp and incredibly perturbed. He watched Billie sleep in worried silence.  
  
 _Look at my boy, my Sweetcake…how terrible he's become…my God, I have to help him. I have to bring him back. Fix him._  
  
Fink Two was not the demon he seemed to be. He wanted to get Billie back to at least somewhat normal. He wanted sex with Billie to be a beautiful experience, for his other half to respond and really enjoy it. Just like their first time. He absolutely adored seeing the ecstasy blooming on Billie's face, shivering through his body and totally consuming him. Fink Two wanted that Billie back. But the only thing he really knew, and knew how to do well was…fuck. To have sex, to make love. But that wasn't going to help this time.  
  
He watched Billie sleep, the long eyelashes resting against his cheek, the pout of his reddened lips.  
  
"How am I supposed to fix you, my darling?" he whispered.  
  
 _Well…_ he reasoned after a few moments. _If perfect sex made you this way…maybe imperfect sex will bring you back a little._  
  
But…how am I supposed to do that?  
  
  
One room away, there was less emotional turmoil and more physical turmoil. You see, Billie's bandmates hadn't been released back into the wild after going with him to the warehouse all that time ago. At first their respective doppelgangers, Van Gough and The Snoo, had ravished them just as Fink had Billie. But after a while, the originals had become less than happy with the arrangement - because even the most perverted among us have their limits.  
  
Tré was staring at himself. No, not at The Snoo, at his reflection. The room he was in was octagonal, with a pitched ceiling. Every surface in there, but for the black leather couch, ancient TV, log fire and countless silver and black, complicated looking sex aids dangling and protruding from everywhere, was mirrored. So everywhere Tré would look, he'd see himself.  
  
In a navy blue silk thong, matching suspenders, stockings and heels, in garish, smeared make up painted on as if by a child, and forced to stand by a (well used) suspension bar hung from the ceiling. And then there was the black corset being laced tighter and tighter around his torso. The chains of the bar jangled, his body jerking as The Snoo yanked taut the laces once more, forcing more breath from his lungs. It pinched, it stuck into him uncomfortably, it felt like a fucking vice the tighter it became. He could only manage short little gasps, and his vision would spot occasionally.  
  
Now, this part, he enjoyed. It was a rush. The kind of stuff he couldn't persuade whatever girl - or indeed, guy - he was with to inflict upon him. But being with someone who was once a part of you - you, the hard partying sexual deviant - took care of that little itch.

  
The Snoo gave the laces one last sharp tug, chuckling low at the strangled, small yelp it elicited, and tied them into a bow. His fishnet wrapped hands rested on Tré's bare, broad shoulders.  
  
"I want to taste every bit of you." he murmured, looking across the room at Tré's reflection and grinning nightmarishly. He smoothed over tattooed skin with those oh so familiar large hands. Words dripped slow and lazy from thin lips like syrup. "Your skin…your blood…your sweat…your tears…" After a long pause, one hand slipped down, hissing over fabric and groping very lightly at Tré's thinly veiled crotch. "Your come…"  
  
Tré let out another small noise, something like a keening whine, staring at their reflection in the mirror opposite. The twin pairs of crystalline blue eyes, the bright pink lipstick circling his mouth, the glint from the sequins of The Snoo's mask. His masked double flashed another demented grin and dipped his head to Tré's raised arm, tongue lolling out and lapping, slavering along his bicep. Tré watched his progress with heavy lidded eyes, watched that lazy tongue make his arm shine with spit, listened to the deep, predatory growl rolling from his throat. The ex-wrestler stopped, tongue retreating into his mouth and teeth fastening very, very lightly over Tré's skin. Not biting. Yet. Those blue eyes rose to look questioningly up at the drummer.  
  
Tré, still taking those quick, gasped breaths, looked right back.  
  
"Do it." he murmured, voice guttural.  
  
The Snoo grinned again and bit down, sharp white teeth cutting into pale flesh. The combination of the copper tang spilling onto his tongue and the breathless cry from Tré's lips made The Snoo's head spin.  
  
Tré felt The Snoo's already bulging, trash-bag wrapped crotch rub against his ass.  
  
"C'mon, man…don't tease me…" he murmured, voice cracked, trying to push back against his tormentor. " _Do_ me, already…"  
  
He knew how fucked up this was, fucked up even for him. But he also knew how mind-blowing this was. So he kinda wanted to get it over with as quick as possible so he didn't have to think about it. The Snoo also seemed to have speed (no, not the drug, that was for later) on his mind - judging by the way he'd hitched up his skirt and lubing himself up good with what looked like fucking cooking oil, Crisco or some shit, the dirty bastard.  
  
The masked twin drew his oil-drenched, sticky hand back and gave Tré a hard slap across the ass, making the drummer arch and tense up like a bowstring, grunting. If it was possible, he tensed up more as a finger invaded him. The Snoo let out a throaty chuckle at his alarm.  
  
"Betcha like that, dontcha, bitch?"  
  
"You fuckin' know it…" Tré wheezed, needing desperately to gasp as that wicked digit probed around inside him like it was looking for a fucking penny. The corset didn't give an inch for it. His head lolled forward, damn nearly exhausted already. His vision spotted out again as his eyes met The Snoo's in the mirror again, and their reflections became bizarrely intermingled. Both took a breath and spoke at once.  
  
"Sexy motherfucker."  
  
Tré choked as The Snoo found the greatest little spot in the world inside him. He tried to arch into the touch, failing, steel bones jamming into his back. His face was already flushed, tight and damp, and by the time The Snoo had thrust into him his head was lolling forward and his vision was sparking out intermittently. In unison, again, they spoke.  
  
"Ohhhh…fuuuuck…."  
  
Too overwhelmed by the constraint of the corset, Tré could sense nothing but The Snoo's cock driving into him, just as rough and deep as he'd always wanted. His eyes rolled in his skull, knees buckling, dangling from the suspension bar as he was fucked gloriously hard and groped in all the right places. Stars exploded though his mind, consciousness slipping away from him. He could vaguely hear some incomprehensible, hoarse cursing; he guessed it was himself. It was all kind of a blur.  
  
The Snoo reached around, grasping Tré's erection and pumping hard and fast, thumbing over the slit, falling in time with his thrusts. Just when Tré thought he was breathing so fast and short and loud he wasn't sure which was inhaling and which was exhaling, a white flash seared through the darkness and the tension exploded right out of him. He heard a rasped shriek so ripped up he wasn't sure it was his. It could have been The Snoo's.  
  
It was probably both.  
  
Consciousness still drifting back and forth through him, Tré only became aware of his surroundings a minute or so later. His wrists ached from hanging by them. His legs wouldn't work. His thong was around his knees. He felt cold; obviously The Snoo had finished up too. And he also felt that if he didn't take a real breath soon, he'd pass out and not wake up for a long fucking time. Not an option with a twice-as-perverted version of you in the room. He raised his head, seeing sweat drip from his sagging fauxhawk. The Snoo stood in front of him, bouncing on the spot like a kid on pixie sticks. The ex-wrestler was holding his hand up, which, on closer inspection, was laced with sticky white fluid. Didn't need three guesses for what it was.  
  
"I……breathe….ow…fffuck…." Tré wheezed, trying to focus and form real sentences.  
  
The Snoo grinned maniacally again, eyes far too bright. That tongue flopped out again, and he proceeded to lick his raised hand clean, Tré still trying to ask for a little give in his corset. The Snoo giggled, high-pitched and unhinged.  
  
"That's three down…"  
  
He sloped up, tipping Tré's head back and licking a long trail all the way up his throat to his chin, swallowing down the sweat he caught with perverse relish. Tré whimpered a little, head falling back forward as The Snoo let go. He heard his captor speak.  
  
"Now - _tearssss_."  
  
That extended s, that hiss at the end, made every one of Tré's nerves spark with impending doom. He raised his head to regard The Snoo through his hair, breathing slowly becoming more regular. At that point the wasn't sure if he hated his twin or wanted to keep him forever.  
  
Suddenly, The Snoo skipped away to the side of the room, reaching down into the pile of odd implements and pulling out what looked like a long black stick. He then returned to Tré, ducking behind him and wrapping an arm around his chest, chin resting on his shoulder. He pointed the stick straight forward - and it was on sight of the curling lettering on the end of said stick that Tré realised that no, it wasn't actually a stick at all.  
  
It was a motherfucking _branding iron_.  
  
See, _that_ was Tré's limit.  
  
His eyes nearly fell out of his head as The Snoo began to stroke his cheek.  
  
"Can ya see what that says? Says 'THE SNOO'." He giggled again. "Fink One bought if for me, for when I got my own little pet. Ain't he nice?"  
  
The masked marauder twirled away, half-stumbling over to the log fire. Tré finally managed his first coherent sentence.  
  
"Oh, _fuck_ no."  
  
He looked up the worn-looking suspension bar, the makeshift fabric strap holding it to the chain attached to the mirrored ceiling. Summoning his strength, Tré stood up properly and began thrashing around, wrenching the bar this way and that with powerful drummer's arms, damn near turning blue from lack of breath. Suddenly, RIP! The strap tore in half, Tré barely keeping his footing, staggering forward on heels as his aching arms came down, still attached to the suspension bar. The Snoo whirled around, scurrying back over to dive on him and molest him into submission. Tré saw him coming and twisted around, cracking The Snoo across the face with the bar. Both of them went crashing to the ground, Tré recovering quicker and doing a bizarre half-crawl, half-run to the door. It was only then that he realised he couldn't grasp the door handle with his bound hands.  
  
Shortly after this, another realisation hit him. He couldn't actually breathe.  
  
He gave the handle on last feeble attempt, before slumping to the ground and sparking out.


	2. Pernicious...And Vicious

Mike sat on the floor, scowling into his lap. He didn't want to look at where he was. He didn't want to think how humiliated and degraded he felt in here. In a fucking cell. A _cell_. And not even a well made one, just something thrown together when it was clear that neither he nor Tré were going to truly co-operate. Be hypnotized, really - Mike thought back to his own actions on that first night.  
  
God, he hadn't even contemplated saying no to Van Gough, didn't even feel like an option.  
  
Just...followed him into his room like a lamb to the slaughter. There was no denying how good it felt, he'd be a dirty liar if he said he hadn't enjoyed it. But it also touched a nerve in a whole other, far more unpleasant way. He knew Tré wouldn't be particularly affected by the thought of having sex with himself, and Billie…well, he didn't know what the hell was going on with Billie, he'd barely seen him - which was a whole other worry that he was trying not to think about right now. For Mike to be fucking himself, however…  
  
If Fink was all the extreme, darker elements of Billie - as he'd said, the reckless drinker, debauched partier, shameless flirt, and gay nympho - then wouldn't that apply to Van Gough too? And if _that_ was true, then…  
  
Mike didn't want Van Gough to be fucking him. To be anywhere _near_ him.  
  
 _He shouldn't even exist._  
  
He was jerked from these dark thoughts by a sudden cold rattle. He looked up to see the shaky cell door thrown open, shuddering on its loose, makeshift hinges. Tré was carried inside and dumped on the ground by The Snoo and a Fink, now free of the suspension bar but still bound by the corset. And still unconscious. Mike scrambled up as the door was shut.  
  
"What did you do to him?!" he exclaimed, rage blooming in him for the umpteenth time in this fucking place.  
  
The Snoo merely gave him a look, and walked away. Seeing Tré's still flushed face, Mike turned him over carefully and fumbled at the laces of the corset, trembling fingers making it difficult. Eventually he tugged the laces free, yanking the corset open and casting it aside, turning his bandmate back over and shaking him gently.  
  
"Tré! Tré! C'mon, breathe, man, _breathe_!" he muttered. When there was no real reaction, Mike reached back for his bottle of water and squirted it over Tré's face and bare chest. Tré grunted, eyes drifting open just a little, taking a deep, wheezing breath. Mike let his head drop, relief flowing through him like a good bong hit. With every breath, Tré became more responsive, eyes more open. He winced, fingertips raising to run over the dented to the point of bruised skin of his waist.  
  
He let his head roll back, swallowing and enjoying the cooling splashes of water on his skin.  
  
"Thanks." he said hoarsely.  
  
Mike exhaled, raising his head and not failing to notice Tré's outfit. His eyebrows raised a little before a black look crossed his face.  
  
"He nearly killed you." he growled.  
  
"Mike, don't. I don't…wanna think about it. About him." Tré pushed himself up a little, rubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand, wiping off the already smeared lipstick. "It's done now."  
  
"Until the next time he wants you!" Mike snapped, blue eyes flashing with an anger that had been repressed for too long. He sighed, shoulders sagging, and reached forward to pull Tré into a grateful hug. His chest grew cold, the water over Tré's chest soaking into his shirt.  
  
"Have you seen Billie?" Tré mumbled into the crook of Mike's neck. The same small sounding question he asked every time he'd been away for more than half an hour. And Mike gave the same grave response.  
  
"No." Mike's eyes were caught by the red stain on Tré's shoulder. "What happened…"  
  
"He was gonna brand me." Tré replied quietly. He shifted a little on the floor as he heard Mike choke in outrage, feeling no searing pain blossom through his lower half. "I guess…it's no fun if I don't react."  
  
Mike grip tightened around the drummer, forcing his fury down inside him, this solid black ball that made him feel utterly sick. He sighed again, drawing back to kiss Tré's damp - but distinctly less pink - forehead. His thin lips moved back down to press against the drummer's neck, eyes closing as he kissed a trail to soothe the both of them. Teeth grazed over the flesh of his throat, biting lightly, and a soft whimper passed Tré's lips.  
  
They'd been in that cell for over a month now, with only each other for company. In fact, aside from when the admittedly delicious food and drink was delivered to them, they saw virtually nobody else. It was a prison. And though they'd been close before, Mike and Tré had found comfort and distraction from their situation in each other.  
  
But even that didn't feel like enough anymore.  
  
Tré turned his head, pressing his mouth to Mike's in a sweet, soft kiss. Deepening it only slightly with separated lips and a brief flick of a moist pink tongue. He broke away, raising a hand to push his sorry fauxhawk back up. They gave each other a plaintive look, knowing this just didn't feel right anymore. Not stuck here. Not without having seen the sun for weeks.  
  
Not without Billie.  
  
Tré's hand fell to smooth along Mike's thigh as he spoke.  
  
"You've been in here a long time…How come Van Gough doesn't…" he trailed off, looking up to meet Mike's eyes and finding them darkening. He quailed a little and did not finish his sentence.  
  
  
There had been a very good reason why Van Gough didn't call on Mike any more. No matter how hard Mike would try to distract himself from it, the reality of what happened the last time they'd been together was burned into his mind.  
  
The sharp tang of blood was the first thing he always remembered. Thrown into Van Gough's room like a drunk out onto the street, his footing had failed him. Arms bound behind his back, he went down hard, cracking his chin on the floor and biting his tongue. Lucky it was there, he'd probably have lost a tooth otherwise. Wincing and cursing under his breath, he shifted up onto his knees. A voice reached his ears as he tried to make himself more comfortable.  
  
"You do know why we had to tie you up a little, right, Mike?" His own voice came. His own damn voice in front of him.  
  
Mike raised his head, spitting blood at the ground before him, tongue throbbing. A trickle of it made its way down his chin as he spoke.  
  
"Because I'd kick your balls into your throat?" he growled.  
  
Van Gough nodded. He was illuminated only by the flashlight he held in his hand. This alone had Mike's heart thrumming in his chest. The bandaged twin took off his hat and flung it away. Mike heard the soft noise as its fall was cushioned by something. He kept his eyes on Van Gough as his doppelganger approached him, falling to his knees in front of him. Mike vaguely noticed that Van Gough was sporting exactly the same dye job as he was, and that the upwardly pointing flashlight was casting the most terrifying shadows over that masked face. Mike's breath hitched slightly in something akin to fear at Van Gough's proximity. Suddenly his head was jerked backwards, long fingers threading into his hair and grabbing a painfully tight fistful of it as restraint. Identically thin lips closed over his and coaxed them open, tongues all at once together and sliding over each other, wet little noises dripping out. Mike's eyes took on the same hazy blankness as Billie's before they closed for the barest of moments. Something seemed to snap in his mind, though, because he wrenched away, scrambling backwards, legs flying out to get him away.  
  
Van Gough smiled, though you could hardly tell. Between the black sunglasses and bandages, it was hard to tell what Van Gough was feeling at all, much less thinking.  
  
"Chill out, man, you want this too. It's always been there in your head."  
  
"NO I fucking _don't_." Mike spat, tensing up to stop his shoulders from shaking. "That…that went with you. And it should have stayed gone. _You_ should've stayed gone."  
  
"It didn't _all_ go with me." Van Gough murmured slyly. He tilted his head. "You shouldn't be ashamed of who you are or what you feel. You've been saying that your whole life, you should listen to yourself."  
  
He pushed himself to his feet. Mike watched him as he turned and walked back a little. Watched all the mannerisms, the long strides he took, the slight swing of his arms. All exactly the same as his own. Mike shivered, pushing himself back a little more and straining against the binding rope around his wrists.  
  
"You won't get me. I'm not like Billie." Mike asserted quietly. "I'll fight you tooth-"  
  
"I don't fuckin' doubt it." Van Gough interrupted, in that same oh so familiar cool way. "You don't have to tell me. In fact, you don't even have to speak, really. What you gotta think about is, we're the same person-"  
  
This time it was Mike's turn to interrupt.  
  
"We are _not_ the same fucking person!" he snarled hoarsely, eyes bright with rage. Van Gough sighed deeply.  
  
"Fine. We're _almost_ the same person, so everything I say to you, I know exactly what you're gonna say back. Because it's what I'd say." he paused, scratching at his chin through the bandages. "I guess it's sort of like…that law. Newton's third law, I think. Every action has an equal but opposite reaction. Only the difference is, I know what that reaction is going to be." he smiled again. "Wow, I can kind of predict the future!"  
  
Mike snorted, shoulders hunched, still rubbing at his binds fruitlessly.  
  
"Way to make use-"  
  
"-of your fuckin' High School Diploma." Van Gough finished. Mike growled like a fucking dog in frustration, blue eyes smouldering.  
  
"Don't do that."  
  
"I've got a surprise for you."  
  
Mike twitched at the sudden change of tact. Then he smirked.  
  
"You can't surprise me, you just said it yourself. I know exactly what you're gonna do because it's what _I'd_ do."  
  
Van Gough tilted his head, then raised his hand and pulled off his shades. There were those sharp blue eyes, those quotation mark eyebrows…and the faintest brown smudge of eyeliner. It was the only difference.  
  
"No, Mikey. _You_ wouldn't do this." he smiled knowingly again. "I brought a friend."  
  
As Mike's stomach went ice cold and his spine went poker straight, a click brought light from another flashlight into the room. And the creature holding it.  
  
Black lips and a red satin bow. Black lips spreading into a predatory smile.  
  
"I hope your skin tastes as delicious as Van Gough's." Fink One purred, licking at his teeth.  
  
Mike's shoulders began shaking again. He couldn't stop it this time. He shook his head, dry lips unable to form words.  
  
Van Gough glanced at Fink One, smiling, before his gaze returned to Mike, who looked pale and utterly horrified. Blue eyes on blue. "See, your little inner voice, the kinky, darker side of yourself…likes it when there's a struggle." he paused to wet his lips, languid and smooth, taking slow steps towards his prey, eyes darkening. "You prefer to make sure your partner has gotten off, even if you haven't. But you see…" he bent down and grasped Mike by his hips, pulling him to his feet and grinding against him as he did so. He raised a hand and clasped the back of the bassist's head, finger curling in the downy hair. "I don't."  
  
He tilted his head for a firm kiss, parting the lips beneath his insistently and delving in. Mike let out a pained moan, stifled in Van Gough's hungry mouth. The bandaged one broke away, the chilling void left behind filled by Fink One who surged up seemingly out of nowhere, all striped mask, gleaming teeth and lurching shadows.  
  
The air was forced from Mike's body as Fink One crashed into him, a bruising tackle that sent them both into the wall. The flashlight swung crazily from around Fink One's wrist, light flickering around the room like a demented firefly, and all at once the demon was gone again. Mike lurched forward, meaning to barrel into the infuriatingly calm Van Gough a few feet away. He never got the chance, because Fink One was behind him, one arm snaking around his chest like a boa constrictor and one hand clamping across his mouth. The demon used his body weight to bring Mike back, his own back meeting the wall with a dull thud. Mike's breathing hissed fast through Fink One's fingers, nostrils flared and eyes wide. He felt hot breath whoosh over his neck, felt teeth fasten lightly over his earlobe, felt a velvet tongue lick at the trapped skin.  
  
"C'mon, _scream_ …" Fink One murmured, voice high-pitched with excitement.  
  
Van Gough approached him, blue eyes glinting from the yellow light.  
  
"You want to keep your dark little role-play rape fantasy in your head…" he whispered.  
  
Mike's body went taut, eyes becoming glassy. The bandaged twin smiled.  
  
"I don't."  
  
Fink One's hand slithered off his mouth, and before Mike could spit terrified protests, Van Gough's lips were on his again. Draining the fight right out of him, it was like they were made of morphine. He moaned low, mouth buzzing against his tormentor's, body shuddering as Fink One rocked his hips against him. Senses overwhelmed, his knees buckled, head craning forward to deepen the torturous kiss. The vicious ripple of self-hatred paled in comparison to the surging lust and heat that settled deep in in his stomach. Van Gough broke away roughly, delivering a sharp slap across Mike's cheek. As the bassist's head snapped around, that same hand became gentle, fingertips caressing lightly at the reddened cheek and curving under his chin.  
  
"Hush, beautiful." Van Gough soothed. "If you struggle it'll hurt more. And if you go with the flow, well…you might even enjoy it."  
  
There was that sparkle in his eyes again. Knowing. Mike felt his blood chill.  
  
What Van Gough had just said… _Exactly_ what Van Gough had just said…  
  
They were words that Mike himself had rehearsed in his mind over and over. Part of that 'dark little role-play rape fantasy', as Van Gough had so succinctly put it.  
  
What worried him more though…he knew exactly where this was headed, albeit with the added element of a third person…he knew how it would play out.  
  
And still…  
  
Mike pressed himself back against Fink One, eyes flickering, glazing over.  
  
"Pl-please don't hurt me." he whispered croakily. "I won't tell anybody, just…let me go."  
  
…he played along. Recited the words he knew so well. Because he wanted to. Something he couldn't explain, didn't _want_ to explain, something incomprehensible and deep-set…that drew him to Van Gough. Before he'd dismissed it as morbid fascination. Now, after three weeks…it was more. And he was starting to understand the possibility why Billie had been absent for so long. It was primal, an instinct.  
  
Drawn together.  
  
Just like before.  
  
A slow smile curved those barely visible thin lips, a smile of approval. A hand dropped to Mike's waist, a callused thumb rubbed over his prominent hipbone.  
  
"Just relax." he murmured. "It'll be over…when it's over."  
  
Mike shivered, feeling fingertips run across the small sliver of skin between his shirt and pants, through the thin trail of hair and back to his skull and crossbones belt buckle. Unfastened with smooth ease. The soothing murmur changed to a dark growl.  
  
"And if you scream, I'll kill you."  
  
He heard Fink One giggle over his shoulder, the hand against his chest pressing down a little more.  
  
"Aw, let him scream…I wanna feel him _buzz_ …"  
  
Van Gough smirked. Suddenly, he threw the flashlight aside, plunging his face into darkness. Mike inhaled sharply, feeling a hand curl into his hair again. Lips brushed his, hovering.  
  
" _Scream_."  
  
That mouth crashed violently into his, all teeth and force, and Mike screamed hoarsely. The raw-throated noise was all but lost into the brutal kiss. Still he screamed. Just like he was supposed to. And as he felt his pants crumple down around his ankles, half hard cock bobbing free into the cool air, he realised that it was the self-loathing coursing through his veins that he was getting off on, not just this fantasy finally getting played out.  
  
It felt so fucking wrong it was delicious.  
  
Van Gough flipped Mike over abruptly, bringing him face to face with Fink One, who did nothing more than smirk before dropping out of his eyeline again. Mike's forehead met the wall with a sharp thud, forced there by those long fingers. And he arched as a dry finger prodded at his entrance.  
  
"F-fuck…" he whimpered.  
  
 _Wrong, wrong, wrong…_  
  
Several long seconds passed, all Mike could hear was the rustle of clothing and a wet slicking noise, and he felt like he was dreaming. His brain felt fogged, it was hard to string thoughts together. His forehead was scraping against the wall, up and down, breath puffing ragged through dry lips, and Van Gough was thrusting into him with pitiless force. He sobbed out his pleasure, soft and wretched into the wall. Fingernails dug into his hipbones.  
  
And suddenly something new broke into the illusion - gloved hands on his bare thighs followed by a slippery warmth engulfing his erection. His wide eyes rolled downwards, seeing tousled black hair wrapped in black and white. A head that remained still while his own hips were jarred by Van Gough to do all the work, to thrust into Fink One's mouth. Something akin to a wail passed Mike's lips as that demonic tongue teased at the slit, heat blooming in the pit of his stomach. Hands balled into tight fists, his nails biting into his palms, electric pleasure shooting up his spine with every inch of movement…there was nothing for him to do but…but…  
  
"Oh…I…fffuck…AH…AHH!!"  
  
His mind fucking _imploded_ , body spasming violently with the sensations crashing down around him, pleasure spiking so sharply his consciousness spiralled away from him for the longest of seconds. Through it all, he felt both Van Gough and Fink One move from him, the chill air trailing its limbs around his body.  
  
Lungs straining for breath and feeling his raw forehead seep with what almost certainly wasn't sweat, Mike sank to his knees, eventually rolling over into a foetal position on the floor. His hazy eyes could make out the discarded flashlights and nothing more. He weakly kicked at his pants, still around his ankles, trying to encourage them back up his legs. As the last traces of his orgasm throbbed from him, the self-loathing no longer became part of the kick. It was the only thing left.  
  
Suddenly he was dragged to his knees by the hair, the scrape of a chair reaching his ears.  
  
"Suck me." Van Gough commanded simply. Mike blinked a few times, making out the incredibly faint outline of his twin's legs extending either side of his shoulders. A dull voice echoed in his head.  
  
 _Of course. He hasn't come yet. He wasn't supposed to._  
  
Mike swallowed, throat thick with nerves and building nausea.  
  
"Do it and I might not crush your windpipe." Van Gough's voice came again, a growl this time.  
  
Mike's head dropped a little, mouth opening, when something seemed to spark in his head. Without a single thought, he twisted his legs until sat on his ass, rocked backwards, brought one up high until his knee almost met his nose and blindly stomped forwards with a snarl.  
  
He knew his own body well enough for his aim to be true.  
  
As Van Gough shrieked, legs slamming together, Mike took his heel to the chair and shoved hard, sending both it and the bandaged Networker clattering to the ground. The bassist back-pedalled frantically, light so poor and bearings so fucked that he couldn't remember where the door was to run for it. Before he could think further, Van Gough was on him and a fist crashed into his face. Mike, only fuelled by this, surged up and into Van Gough, lowered head smashing into his stomach like a bull and charging until they both lost their footing. A brawl broke out as they went down. Mike, still with his arms tied and heavily disadvantaged, held his own for longer than either of them thought he would. Van Gough cried out, voice strangled.  
  
"FINK!!"  
  
Light flooded the room, blinding them all for a few painful moments, as the door was opened. Looking over through narrowed, identically blue eyes, Mike and Van Gough saw the silhouette of Fink One. Leaving. The demon looked over his shoulder at them both, utter disdain in those immaculately painted eyes. He shrugged loosely.  
  
"Not my problem."  
  
And then he was gone.  
  
As Van Gough stared in betrayed disbelief, Mike took advantage and twisted his body around, curling a leg over his twin's body for restraint and dropping his elbow down onto his throat. He bore down on the helplessly choking man.  
  
"You shouldn't exist! You shouldn't fucking be _real_!!" he rasped. "Why are you here, Van Gough, _WHY are you alive_?!"  
  
Van Gough, naturally as lithe as Mike, squirmed like a crocodile in a death roll, slithering away and wrapping his arm around Mike's throat, dragging him to his feet. Mike choked, kicking frantically, to no avail. Van Gough's arm tightened around his neck as he hissed into his ear.  
  
" _Ever think that you're the one that shouldn't exist_?"  
  
Mike stopped instantly, eyes going saucer-like.  
  
 _N-no…_  
  
He was unceremoniously hurled to the ground, where he lay still, wheezing life back into his lungs. Shortly afterwards, with gruff murmurings of dissatisfaction echoing in his ears, he was returned to the cell without a fight. His binds were cut, and he sat down heavily, rubbing at his raw wrists.  
  
Mike was glad Tré was absent from the cell at the time.  
  
He could sit and let the tremors run through him and stare at the ground in peace.  
  
  
Mike unwrapped himself from around Tré, sloping up and moving to scoop up Tré's regular clothes. He handed them to the drummer, giving him a tight smile.  
  
"I don't wanna think about it. About him." he murmured.


	3. Skin So Pale and Eyes So Black…Are You Ever Coming Back?

A little later, Billie stirred. He looked a little rested, which was nice. Fink Two raised his head and smiled down at him warmly. No matter the wounds on him, Billie was and would always be beautiful. Feeling something flutter inside him at that thought, the demon dropped his black lips to Billie's neck, kissing meaningless patterns over his abraded skin. Billie's breath hitched, and a small whimper passed his lips. Fink Two stopped. He realised, with not a little remorse, that he was going to have to work hard against his own instincts and turn ons - they were Billie's too, after all. After a few moments of just…holding him, Fink Two drew back and slid down his own pants, smoothly pushing them aside. Closing his eyes, he summoned up every image he had stored away of Billie and jerked himself into an erection. Billie turned over a little and watched, that mild confusion once again swimming in his eyes. The demon arched into his hand, eyes flicking up to meet Billie's for the briefest of seconds before the abused young man was unceremoniously flipped onto his back. Fink Two slithered beneath the sheets, lubricating himself with the little tube he kept in his pocket. Billie felt hands smooth along the underside of his thighs, lifting them. As Fink Two's head appeared, rising up, silk sheets cascading down his back like liquid, his hands slipped to Billie's hips and he impaled his estranged double.  
  
Billie let out a loud moan, back arching. Eyes as dull as ever. Fink Two swallowed and let his head roll back, eyes closing, hips falling into a bizarre, jerky, staccato rhythm. His palms lay flat at Billie's hips, serving only as weights to keep him still. Even going as far as to angle his erratic thrusts so as to _avoid_ Billie's sweet spot. Eventually he withdrew, neither of them having reached orgasm.  
  
Billie lay still for a few moments. The silence lay heavy over the room. He licked his lips, raising his head and looking at the demon hunched at the end of the bed. Head in his hands. One painted hazel eye visible through fingers, turned towards him. Seeing that same fucking confusion.  
  
The silence was choking.  
  
A small creak as Fink Two stood, reaching down and pulling on his pants.  
  
"Get dressed."  
  
Billie obeyed.  
  
  
"ATTENTION."  
  
Fink Two's just barely strained voice rang out through the main hall of the warehouse. Eyes rose to the heavens, up to the top of the staircase where the demon stood, hand clasping Billie's. Through the sea of ever-shifting red vinyl, mustard yellow, purple, black and rainbow shades could be seen. Fink Two cleared his throat and made his announcement.  
  
"Billie has performed poorly with me. He will get twenty-four hours rest. That means not one of you is to go near him. Not _one_ of you."  
  
A surprised silence was followed by indignant grumbling from the floor. Fink Two acknowledged none of this, instead tugging Billie along as he turned back down the corridor. Billie kept his eyes to the ground, as he was usually instructed, while being led down another corridor. If he had looked up, he'd have seen exactly where he was being led to. Or rather, who.  
  
Mike and Tré scrambled to their feet as their cell door was swung open, gasping aloud as Billie was pushed in with them and the door shut and locked behind him. Fink Two didn't stay, though, turning immediately and walking back down the corridor, mind swirling.  
  
 _He barely even responded…I gave him terrible sex, and he barely even…if that didn't fix him, perhaps his friends will. Somehow. But surely I'd know, of all people, how to…  
  
There has to be more to it than this. Fink One. He's been here the entire time._  
  
A determined glint set itself in those black-painted hazel eyes. As he stalked down the hallway to find his clone, he found his vision began to spin a little. Stumbling, with none of his usual grace, Fink Two fell and leaned heavily against the wall, eyes screwed shut as dizziness engulfed him for a few long moments. Whilst clutching his head and waiting for clarity to return, a thought struck the confused demon.  
  
 _Why? Why did Billie react so little, when I…I feel terrible?_  
  
Eventually, Fink Two pushed off from the wall, vision returning to normal. Staving off a threatening headache as best he could, he continued on his mission to find his reckless twin.  
  
  
"Oh…my God…"  
  
That whimper crawled from Tré's throat on sight of his bandmate. Their first sight of him in a long time.  
  
Not a pretty one.  
  
"Billie…"  
  
Billie remained where he was, just looking back at them, expressionless. The marks, marks of ownership on his body so painfully apparent to his bandmates. Mike, reeling from the shock, took a step towards him. Billie took a step back, eyeing them warily. His back met the wall, and he slid to the floor, eyes unfocussed and dull as ever.  
  
Mike made an odd choking sort of noise in the back of his throat. He and Tré slowly began approaching him, fearing that the slightest noise or sudden move could spook him, like he was...was…an animal, or something. That horrible thought couldn't help but stick in their minds as the neared their broken friend.  
  
"Look at him…" Tré whined quietly. "Look at him, Mike…"  
  
Billie made no move to run. They stopped a few feet away, utterly at a loss for what to do. What to say. Tré pressed close to Mike, hand curling into his sleeve as two pairs of devastated blue eyes regarded the distinctly smaller looking man.  
  
"How did this…how _could_ this happen? I-I thought…I thought he was supposed to be having perfect sex, how could he be like _this_?"  
  
Mike swallowed, teetering between grief and rage. He shook his head a little.  
  
"Too much of a good thing…" he murmured. "I guess…having your brains fucked out, twenty four seven, is…too much. So he's just getting on with it…"  
  
No reaction came from Billie at any of those words. He just sat in silence. Mike's voice grew considerably quieter.  
  
"I think he gave up."  
  
  
A shadow threw itself out across the floor, languishing at Fink One's feet as he reclined in front of the TV in his darkened room. His eyes raised and found his collared twin standing in the doorway. Fink Two eyed him.  
  
"What's happened to him?"  
  
Fink One didn't reply. Only arched his eyebrow and returned the gaze fearlessly.  
  
Fink Two pushed away from the doorframe, closing the door behind him. He began to slink over to the other demon, liquid hips and devil's tail swinging.  
  
"What did you do to our boy?" he asked quietly, words measured.  
  
Fink One merely smiled.  
  
Suddenly Fink Two was in his lap, knees resting either side of his hips, lithe body arching down over him.  
  
"Ooh, how _domineering_." Fink One sneered.  
  
Fink Two repeated his question, Fink One evaded it again, instead shifting to make himself more comfortable beneath his counterpart. Fink Two's eyes travelled down the vinyl-wrapped chest, fingertips following his gaze to glide behind the waistband of the deceptive demon's red pants. Fink One's hips bucked, a hiss escaping him, lips curling into a fiendish grin. Soon those full black lips were pressed and sliding smooth against Fink Two's, a growl of appreciation and low chuckle echoing forth from them. Fink One's eyes slipped shut; Fink Two's remained open.  
  
" _What did you do_?" he hissed into his clone's mouth, groping him, quietly enjoying each gentle thrust into his palm.  
  
Fink One smiled into the kiss.  
  
"Adrienne…"  
  
Fink Two stopped. He withdrew his hand and pulled back a little.  
  
"What?"  
  
A terrible smile bloomed across Fink One's face.  
  
"I fucked her." he giggled demonically. "I had sex with his wife."  
  
Fink Two's stomach dropped right out of him. He stared at the smug devil, hazel eyes bright, even in the poor light.  
  
"You…our little sweetcake is a lifeless doll because… _you slept with Adie_?"  
  
Fink One let his head fall back against the couch, teeth glinting.  
  
"I broke him in very well." he purred. "Isn't it delicious?"  
  
A moment of stillness, Fink Two staring down at his twin. Suddenly his gloved hands flew to Fink One's throat, pushing him until he arched back over the couch, thumbs digging into his windpipe. Shoulders hunched and entire body trembling, his eyes flashed bright and piercing. The sting of rage and loss lashed black up his spine, ripping through his mind, almost as if Adrienne was his own wife.  
  
Still.  
  
" _I should snap your neck_ …" he snarled.  
  
Fink One clawed frantically at the hands around his neck, eyes wild. A searing flash of pain that jolted through both of them abruptly brought the attack to an end. Both of them doubled over, Fink Two out of Fink One's lap and clutching at his head. Fink One's hands were at his chest, fingers digging into the material of his shirt as if he was having a heart attack. Eventually, it passed. The two of them looked at one another.  
  
"What was that?" Fink Two whimpered.  
  
Fink One said nothing, only looking down, clearly shaken. After a few moments, heart rate soothing, Fink Two straightened up and turned to leave.  
  
"You wanted him, didn't you?" Fink One's voice came. Fink Two stopped, looking back into the darkened eyes of his clone.  
  
"I wanted him _happy_." he growled, glaring.  
  
Fink One shook his head.  
  
"How was that ever a possibility?" he said quietly.  
  
Fink Two looked at him for a moment longer, throat closing up with a realisation he wasn't quite ready to acknowledge yet, then continued out, closing the door behind him.  
  
  
"Hey. Hey, you. Wake up. What're you doing down there?"  
  
One of the vinyl suited demon clones stood, head tilted, gazing down at one of his brethren - one who was slumped down against the wall. A third Fink approached the first from behind.  
  
"What're you looking at?"  
  
The first Fink indicated to the slumped Fink. He crouched down and shook the demon, getting no reaction. He raised his hand to tilt the seemingly unconscious Fink's head up to the light. On contact, the first Fink recoiled abruptly, scrambling back into the third Fink.  
  
"H-he's stone cold…he's _dead_ …!" he whimpered, hands clasped over his masked face. The two Finks looked at one another, the shock resonating in each other's eyes. After a moment, the third Fink slid his arms around the first, comforting him with a rain of kisses at his throat and lips. Soon the dead Fink was forgotten, the two vinyl wrapped devils wrapped up in each other, pressed against the wall and kissing noisily, naughty little giggles echoing into each other's mouths. Suddenly, the first Fink made a choking noise, pulling away and clutching at his stomach and chest. He stumbled backwards, and what little was visible of his face turned a deathly white.  
  
"What's wrong? What is it?!" the third Fink squeaked, staring and pressing himself harder against the wall, too scared to reach out to his obviously in pain twin. He stood and watched the first Fink claw fitfully at his body, trying to speak but choking on every word. His eyes went wide, before his legs buckled and he went down, crumpling into a little heap on the ground and lying still.  
  
The remaining Fink stayed glued to the wall for a few moments, breath coming in little erratic gasps. He peeled himself away eventually, peering down at the fallen demon.  
  
Yup. Dead.  
  
The Fink tilted his head, utterly bewildered, looking at both of the bodies, before skittering off to inform one of the original Networkers of what had just occurred - while feeling a little twinge in his stomach himself…  
  
  
Meanwhile, in the cell, Mike and Tré had moved close enough to settle down either side of Billie, said broken friend still not even acknowledging them. Tré wrapped his arms around himself.  
  
"Bill?" he said quietly. "Billie, what is it? What happened?"  
  
Nothing. Billie just sat, eyes ever hazy and limbs limp and heavy-looking.  
  
"C'mon, Bill…talk to me." Tré glanced at Mike, the bright worry in his blue eyes reflected in the bassist's. His hands fisted tight into his shirt, wanting so badly to touch Billie, a reassuring squeeze of the hand, a sympathetic caress of the cheek, a hug that would defend him from the fucking world…but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Neither he nor Mike knew how Billie might react, and that…that was terrifying and heartbreaking all at once.  
  
"Look at me. Please." Tré tried again, voice wavering just a little.  
  
Still nothing.  
  
Tré made a small noise of desperation, looking to Mike again. The bassist shifted slightly, turning onto his side and lying awkwardly against the wall to face Billie, and spoke.  
  
"Say something, man…we're so glad you're back, and you're safe, but…you're worrying us." he murmured. His eyes couldn't help but drift to the marks on Billie's neck as he did so. Chewing on his lip, he reached across to a spare shirt lying crumpled in the corner. _Nice of them to think to clothe us_ , he hissed inwardly, that dark anger lodging itself in his throat until he swallowed it back down. He held the shirt up in Billie's eyeline.  
  
"Are you cold? D'you want this?"  
  
Billie just looked right through Mike's offering. After a long few moments, Mike lowered his arm, settling the shirt down and folding his hands awkwardly in his lap. Something inside him wanted dearly to shake Billie hard, shake him into reacting, even if it was just to hit him or cry or crumple to the ground, anything would be wonderful…but what made him sick was the thought that maybe Billie was beyond it. Like…really, really broken.  
  
A despairing silence descended, both Mike and Tré at a loss for what to do. Tré swallowed, leaning a little closer to Billie, shoulder just barely resting against his friend's.  
  
"Y-you do realise it's us, don't you?" he asked, a distinct tinge of fear in his voice. Mike's brow knitted, not even having considered that before.  
  
When nothing, not even a flicker passed over Billie's face, Tré spoke again, voice taut and growing shrill with building panic.  
  
"Billie? Look at me. I'm serious, Bill, you can hear me, fucking _look at me_."  
  
Finally, Tré raised his hand, hesitated for a few seconds, and curled his fingers under Billie's chin, gently turning his head towards him. Billie didn't resist. Soon the drummer was looking directly into those empty hazel eyes for the first time. Billie did indeed look right back at him. Right _through_ him. Like he wasn't even there. Silence once again blanketed the room - silence but for Tré's hitching breathing.  
  
"A-are you still in there?"  
  
"Jesus…" Mike muttered, rubbing his head and looking away. The uselessness he felt made him ache.  
  
Tré felt a lump form solid in his throat, his voice wavering terribly.  
  
"Billie, if you don't say something I think I'm gonna cry, and you know how ugly I look when I cry…"  
  
His hand moved from Billie's chin to clasp his vacant friend's hand gently. A few horrible, horrible minutes passed where all Tré could manage was to bite his lip to keep inside a pathetic whimper and all Mike could do was keep his thoughts from the two Finks and what he would do to them once they were free.  
  
Then, finally…Billie reacted. He moved.  
  
Every nerve in both Tré and Mike's bodies stood to attention as Billie's muscles began to work.  
  
But all he did was pull his hand free of Tré's and settle into stillness again.  
  
He may as well have punched his friend in the face. Tré looked, and was, utterly heartbroken. It wasn't even just the idea that his best friend had slipped his hand free, it was the physical aspect of his hand suddenly lying cold and empty at Billie's thigh. The shock of it was staggering. He recoiled, arms falling to his sides, mind just fucking _shutting down_ with grief.  
  
"Billie Joe…" Mike murmured, tasting Tré's pain like it was his own. And it was, really. Quietly, he was grateful it wasn't his hand that Billie had pulled away from; he didn't think - he _knew_ he wouldn't have been able to take it. His arms ached with the need to hold both of his friends.  
  
His glassy eyes rose to the ceiling in anguish.  
  
A soft squeak signalled movement after a few moments, the squeak of vinyl. Suddenly, the hair on Mike's arms stood on end as a hand curled into the material of his shirt and a warm body pressed against his chest. He looked down into nest-like jet black hair, the head resting against his chest. Mike opened his mouth to speak, the words not even forming in his throat. He forced himself to blink a few times and confirm to himself what he was seeing.  
  
Billie had moved again. Moved to curl up against him, those too short legs tucking up to crook against his own, that pale, bruised, small back arching into his body, head rubbing ever so slightly, nuzzling almost, into his chest. A hand, shaking just a little, clinging to his own shirt like either one of them would disappear in a heartbeat. Mike watched, silent as Billie reached back to wrap his hand around Tré's, pulling the drummer's arm and curling it around his waist, hugging it to him. Tré, equally surprised, shifted closer until he spooned against the smaller man. He looked as though he was about to speak, Mike shushing him softly before wrapping an arm around Billie's shoulders.  
  
He was warm. So fucking warm, not as cold and lifeless as his eyes suggested. He was warm and alive and _there_ , right there with them, curled up between them, not vacant, not unresponsive, not dead. He was fucking _there_. God, it was enough to make a grown bassist cry.  
  
Billie pulled both of them in even closer, until their chests pressed against him, until their limbs were tangled and indistinguishable, until he was squashed, cocooned between them. Cocooned and fucking _safe_.  
  
And then…he spoke.  
  
"He used to be a part of me." he said, voice so husky it was barely there. "He used to _be_ me. I used to be him." he licked at sore, bruised lips. "I'm sorry."  
  
Mike felt a stark mixture of delirious joy and crippling pity at hearing Billie speak. He sounded so old…  
  
"It's not your fault, don't think that it is. Ever. Don't apologize." he replied, the sternness he'd hoped to instil in his words disappearing, too grateful to even admonish his friend. His thumb rubbed little circles at Billie's shoulder. "We all have our demons…"  
  
For the first time in almost a month, Billie's eyes cleared, widening a little. Life sparked in them. Fear. He pressed himself tighter against Mike's chest, clutched at his shirt a little tighter.  
  
"Demons…" he whispered.  
  
  
"They _what_?"  
  
Z narrowed his eyes, sceptical, at the anxious Fink before him.  
  
"They died! Right in front of me! Well, one did, the other, he was already…they're _dead_!"  
  
Balducci sat up from his upside down position on the couch of his room.  
  
"Of what, what the hell did you do to them?" he asked, frowning.  
  
"Nothing! Nothing! Nothing!" the Fink cried repeatedly, now hopping from foot to foot in his nervousness. "What's going on, why are they…I didn't do anything, I swear!!"  
  
Z snorted.  
  
"Right. They just dropped down dead. Don't be fucking stupid, they probably just fainted from exhaustion or something."  
  
"Nooo…" the Fink moaned, holding his head in frustration. "I'm not lying, I'm not! You have to come see, you have to do something!"  
  
Balducci stood up, swaggering over to the Fink.  
  
"Look, we're not stupid. One of your number tried this before. You're just trying to get us all down there so you can all molest us. Again." he raised a hand and tapped the Fink patronizingly on the forehead. "We're not gonna fall for it twice. You oughta consult each other before coming up here with your stories. And you oughta learn from tiring out your _other_ pet."  
  
He swung around, smirking at Z.  
  
"Now…what's say you go downstairs and turn up the temperature on the gas heater, so we can all get good and sweaty…"  
  
"Maaan, I don't care how hot that sounds, fuck you." Z responded. "You've seen that heater, how sketchy it is. Touch that thing and the whole place could go up."  
  
The Fink was about to plead his case again, clutching slightly at his stomach as that pain slowly got worse, when a thud in the doorway caught all their attention. Gazes swinging around, they found Captain Underpants in the doorway.  
  
A Fink crumpled at his feet.  
  
He pointed down to the sorry looking body.  
  
"What the _fuck_ is this?"  
  
Z sloped up, sighing, clearly not destined to get any peace and quiet with Balducci any time soon.  
  
"It's a Fink." he said flatly. Balducci peered at it, noticing the clammy, white skin beneath the mask.  
  
"What's wrong with it?" he asked warily.  
  
"I'll tell you what's wrong with it, my lad." Captain Underpants replied, pushing the body into the room with his foot. "It's dead, that's what's wrong with it."  
  
" _Dead_?!" a chorus of three voices came, three people recoiling from the prone form on the floor.  
  
"Get it the fuck out of here, then, if it's got a disease I don't want it on _my_ fuckin' carpet!" Z exclaimed shrilly.  
  
The (living) Fink tugged on Balducci's sleeve frantically.  
  
"You see! You see! I told you, they're dying! We're dying!" he cried, panic creeping into his voice.  
  
"There are more?!" Captain Underpants asked in almost horror. "I just found this one under the stairwell, and you're telling me there's more of you dying?"  
  
"Holy fuck, man, there _is_ a disease…" Balducci shuddered, shrinking away from the Fink and into Z's arms, staring at the demon.  
  
"No, honestly, they were all fine, then they just…died, I don't even know…" the Fink trailed off, shrugging hopelessly and holding his stomach.  
  
"There can't be a disease, none of them have left the place, they haven't been exposed to anything like that." Captain Underpants reasoned, folding his arms. He looked at the Fink sharply. "You. What were they doing when they died?"  
  
"N-nothing unusual, w-we were just…" the Fink trailed off again, staring at the floor.  
  
Captain Underpants frowned, walking over to the Fink and poking him in the arm.  
  
"Hey. Keep talking, demon, you-"  
  
He was interrupted as the Fink made a choking noise, hands at his stomach at first, then his chest, then…then…  
  
His footing went from under him and he collapsed.  
  
Captain Underpants blinked, nudging at the body with his foot.  
  
"Oh, fuck…"  
  
A shriek went up from the two other Networkers.  
  
"Oh my fucking JESUS, it's a disease, it's a disease and we're gonna fucking die!!" Balducci cried, clinging to his lover for dear life and scrambling further back from the two bodies.  
  
"Hey, hey, HEY!" Captain Underpants shouted, holding up his hands. "Can we just calm the fuck _down_ for two seconds?!" he paused, hands over his masked face as he took a breath. "Where are Fink? Van Gough? The Snoo? I think they'd wanna know about this…"


	4. I Don't Believe In The Apocalypse...

Fink One sat on his couch trying to focus on the television, trying to ignore each twinge in his chest, each painful twist of his stomach. It grew harder as the odd pains grew more intense. He licked his lips, steadfastly staring at the programme in front of him. When his breath hitched suddenly, a lightning bolt of pain shooting from the pit of his stomach right to his brain, he stumbled up off the couch and to his bathroom. The occasional tremor shuddered through his body as his hands fastened to the sink, holding himself steady. He was damn near glaring at himself in the mirror, irritated and quietly more than a little worried. Clenching his jaw, he tugged off his mask, dropping it to the floor and peering at himself.  
  
Paler than usual, beads of cold sweat beginning to form on his forehead and cheeks, eyes looking hollow and a little sunken…  
  
 _I used to be beautiful…_  
  
His wiped at his forehead with the back of a gloved hand, tugging at the bow still around his neck, voice trembling as much as his body as he growled a question at his reflection.  
  
"What's happening to me?"  
  
  
Fink Two was fairing no better. Dizzy spells and migraines wrought terrible visions and irrational behaviour, so much so that he was almost scared to move from his cross-legged position on the bed in his locked room. Head in his hands, eyes tight shut, he told himself over and over that it would get better. The mysterious pain would subside. Billie would improve, he would return to his Fink, and everything would be right with the world. Yes, this would pass. It'd get fixed.  
  
It _would_ pass.  
  
But as his mind ticked over, thinking of Billie and how blank he was, how their terrible encounter seemed to have absolutely no effect on him, but he himself felt…  
  
A dreadful realisation sunk through his stomach.  
  
 _I've known nothing but perfect sex, my entire life…and now, inflicting_ bad _sex on Billie in the hopes of bringing him back from whatever void he's in…  
  
What if it's having the reverse effect on me?_  
  
He raised his head, painted eyes wide. A fearful whimper passed his black lips.  
  
"What's going to happen to me?"  
  
 _Oh God, Billie…I hope it was worth it…I hope you're getting better…_  
  
  
Hours had passed. Limbs ached, muscles cramped. But neither Mike, Billie, nor Tré were willing to move from their positions, curled together and entangled as one on the floor of their cell. No further words had been spoken, there was no need for them. Just the press of warm skin, the sound of soft and rhythmic breathing, the occasional Fink heard scampering by. It was almost normal. Almost tolerable. If Mike could keep his eyes closed, they could probably stay there, like that, forever.  
  
But Mike opened his eyes, saw the padlocked bars that made up their door, and felt sick.  
  
He pressed his lips together and ran his hand through Billie's unkempt hair.  
  
"Now you're back…we can get out of here. We can go home."  
  
Long silence.  
  
"I can't go down there." Billie said quietly. There was no fear in his voice - it was just said as a statement. As fact.  
  
Tré raised his head from its position on Billie's shoulder. Raising his arms, whose muscles shrieked at the sudden movement, he turned the smaller man around and cupped his face.  
  
"Hey… _we're_ here." he said firmly. "They're not even gonna touch you. If I have to carry out over my head like a…a baby to Jesus, we'll make sure they won't touch you."  
  
"I could carry him…" Mike offered. Tré snorted, blowing the strands of fauxhawk out of his eyes.  
  
‘You haven't got the upper arm strength. You'd drop him."  
  
"I would not! Besides, I'm taller than you, I could hold him higher."  
  
"You'd still drop him."  
  
Smiles crossed their faces at the playful bickering, the two hoping it would rouse Billie a little more. Though it just seemed to pass right over him, the way he just looked up at Tré, mild anxiousness drifting in his wide hazel eyes. The drummer looked down at him, that uselessness growing inside him again. Then suddenly, Billie spoke.  
  
"How have you been?" he asked.  
  
Tré blinked, then laughed. He couldn't help it.  
  
"Heh…I've been ok, man. But I'd be a whole lot better if I was out of here." he lowered his head, forehead knocking lightly against Billie's. "Wouldn't you?"  
  
Billie swallowed.  
  
"I-I can't…" he repeated. "I'm supposed to stay here and rest…for 24 hours. Fink Two said…that I'm supposed to rest."  
  
Tré's eyes widened, and he raised his head. His mouth moved, tried to form words, but…what the fuck could you say to that?  
  
"Bill… _it's us_ …" Mike breathed, stunned.  
  
As Tré's hands slipped from Billie's face, the bassist turned the smaller man's head to face him. At a loss once again, all he could think to do was press a kiss into his friend's hair, to soothe, to show love and to wake Billie up all at once. This seemed to do nothing, so Mike continued, lips moving to Billie's forehead, raining little kisses along his skin, to his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids, his lips…he wanted to cover every inch of him, kiss away the layer of...whatever it was that was hiding _their_ Billie, _his_ Billie.  
  
His mind, unwillingly, drifted to something Van Gough said once.  
  
 _"Newton's third law, I think. Every action has an equal but opposite reaction."  
  
C'mon Billie, please…where are you? I need to see you're still alive…react, please, for the love of God,_ react…  
  
And…he did.  
  
As those bruised lips were met with kiss after kiss, Billie began to move slowly. Tilting his head towards Mike, unsteady hand raising to rest at the bassist's neck, eyes coming to focus on his face. Then he was returning the kisses, gentle, needy, parting his lips and asking wordlessly for more, for deeper. Mike, suddenly unnerved, broke away, eyeing Billie in confusion.  
  
 _Oh no…he does still remember Adrienne, doesn't he?_  
  
"W-wait--"  
  
"Please." Billie interrupted softly, shoulders hitching just a little and eyes filled with such desperation.  
  
Mike realised he could never have refused Billie anything at that point. Glancing briefly at Tré, he dipped his head in compliance, Billie rising to meet him in a deep, wanton kiss. The smaller man tilted his head, pressing himself against Mike, clasping the back of his head and whimpering needily.  
  
Tré watched his bandmates kiss, at first utterly bewildered, before a thought struck him.  
  
 _It's different.  
  
All he's had is Fink after Fink after Fink, all perfect but all…exactly the same. For almost a month. Maybe this is what he needs to get fixed. Imperfection. Change. Us._  
  
As he thought this, Billie turned around to face him, hands reaching for him. Tré obeyed without a word, lips closing over Billie's and sliding wetly together. Mike moved to kiss at the marked skin of Billie's neck, coming to the same conclusion as Tré. _This_ is what he needed.  
  
They continued to kiss, Billie moving and twisting between them, hands running over his body and lips bringing him back from a void he was barely even aware he was in. It was like sun rays were drenching him, warming his skin and tangling in his hair. It felt like he'd been through the darkest night of his life…and now…  
  
It was morning.  
  
His body sang.  
  
He broke away, regarding Mike with daunted but clear eyes.  
  
"Let's get out of here." he murmured hoarsely.  
  
Without another word, the three of them sloped up, bodies absolutely roaring in pain from their inertia. Working the kinks out of their muscles, they eyed the makeshift cell door. It didn't seem like too much of an obstacle. On approach, though, a very real obstacle appeared in their lines of vision - a padlock. Mike threaded his hands through the bars, tugging half-heartedly at the object, the clanging caused bouncing off down the corridor.  
  
"Fuck…" he breathed, peering through the bars and thankfully finding the hallway without a soul. Glaring at the door as if it was the object of some terrible personal hatred, he fastened his hands to the bars and rattled them furiously, to no effect other than causing a racket. He grunted in frustration, small dread rising inside him that maybe it wasn't going to be so easy to get out…  
  
Suddenly, Tré pushed him aside.  
"Man, get out of the way…" he muttered, inspecting the door. Mike and Billie stood back, vaguely bewildered as the drummer ran his hands over the bars and peered close at every corner. Then, he took three measured steps backwards, dropped his head and shoulder and bolted at the door, catching it just right so the hinges snapped and the door flew open. As Tré stumbled out into the hallway to the door's enraged clattering, his bandmates stared at him. Yeah, the door was makeshift and flimsy, but…fuck. Tré held his shoulder and flexed it, smug smile on his face.  
  
"What, you're surprised? I've busted out of meaner dungeons than that."  
  
Mike blinked, not entirely sure if he'd heard him correctly.  
  
"Dungeons?"  
  
"Dungeons." Tré repeated. His tone screamed ‘you don't wanna know.'  
  
Mike gave him an odd look, before turning to Billie.  
  
"Stay there a second." he instructed, exiting the cell. "I spotted something up the hall, I'm gonna go use it."  
  
Billie peered out to see Mike heading for a telephone attached to the wall. The bassist lifted the receiver, finger hovering over the buttons for a few moments. Fuck, who to call and drag into this mess? Certainly not Adrienne. He licked his lips nervously before inspiration struck him. He dialled and waited.  
  
"Fucking three in the morning…hello…?"  
  
" _Jason_! Oh, thank fuckin' Jesus you're there…" Mike hissed quietly, not wanting to alert them any more than they probably already had. "Dude, drop whatever you're doing cuz we really need your help. Get over to…to…"  
  
Fuck, where were they? It had been so damn long, he couldn't even remember the address…  
  
"R-right, go to the studio, one of Bill's address books should be there, look up The Network's place and _get down there_. And haul ass!"  
  
Jason's ‘what the f--' was cut off as Mike slammed down the phone.  
  
Billie crossed his arms over his bare chest, hunching his shoulders as some phantom protection, and walked out into the corridor. He'd be lying if he said his heart wasn't pounding wildly in his chest, but he had to get out of there. He just…fucking _had_ to.  
  
The first thing that came to his attention, though, as the three of them moved down the hall towards the staircase, was how quiet it was. Usually there was a steady murmur of activity coming from the main hall, the sensuous moans and animal cries of all those demons in some incredible mass orgy. Now though…there was noise, there were moans…but it sounded like pain. Like agony.  
And nothing else.  
  
Billie was so intent on this, so absorbed by the sheer lack of noise it made the hairs rise on the back of his neck, that he started violently at the sight of one of the Finks stumbling up the staircase and collapsing. Both Mike and Tré instinctively clamped a hand onto each of Billie's shoulders, painfully aware of the power those eyes, those hands and those deceptive lips held over their bandmate - and they were not about to lose him again.  
  
The Fink pushed himself up on one hand, the other at his chest, and began dragging his seemingly leaden body down the hallway towards Billie, Mike and Tré. The demon was whimpering pitifully and choking on his breath every few seconds, looking in absolutely terrible pain. He didn't seem to have noticed his spectators at all - until Tré breathed a soft curse of surprise at the state of the pitiful looking demon. The Fink raised his head, bleary eyes coming to focus on Billie. A faint spark went off in his eyes, a hungry grin appearing on his black lips as he reached out towards his unmasked twin. Billie pressed himself back just a little against his bandmates, breath catching in his throat as he locked eyes with the sick demon. Just as quickly as it appeared, that faint spark died in the Fink's eyes and it gave a horrible shudder, before crumpling down and lying still.  
  
The three remaining men stood still for a moment, stunned. Then, with a few words of warning from Mike, Billie approached the body and crouched beside it, shaking its shoulder gently. Nothing.  
  
"What the fuck…is he…" Tré trailed off, he and Mike following Billie cautiously.  
  
"He's dead…" Billie murmured, standing up and feeling his head spin at the sight of the body.  
  
A door creaked as it swung open a way down the corridor.  
  
"What is going on out here…" a voice came, rough and irritated. Billie turned around and froze.  
  
Fink Two.  
  
The demon was rubbing at his head, eyes shut tight as he closed the door behind him. As he opened those painted eyes, they seemed to instinctively focus on Billie immediately. His initial surprise was replaced by a relieved smile.  
  
"Sweetcake…you‘re better…" he breathed almost reverently. He began to move down the corridor towards the little gathering, not even noticing the Fink's body at their feet. Mike and Tré instantly moved in front of their bandmate, shielding him from whatever dark magic Fink Two intended to weave. The three of them couldn't help noticing that the demon looked worn out…  
  
Billie pushed past his bandmates to face Fink Two directly.  
  
"Billie-" Tré began, growing increasingly uneasy.  
  
"How did you…" Fink Two trailed off as he pushed past the open-from-the-wrong-side cell door.  
  
"We're leaving." Billie murmured, voice holding just the barest tremor, eyes trained on his exorcised demon.  
  
The smile on Fink Two's face vanished. He stopped a few feet away.  
  
"No…" he shook his head. "You _can't_."  
  
"I'm willing to take my chances down there."  
  
"You can't just _leave_." Fink Two said incredulously, as if Billie hadn't even spoken. "I gave you a home here, I fed and clothed you, I kept you happy-"  
  
" _Happy_?" Billie hissed, eyes sparking and shoulders beginning to shake.  
  
Fink Two rubbed at his head again, flinching at some twinge, some flash jolting through his mind.  
  
"I'm sorry, my darling, I'm sorry for anything that might have happened while I was gone, but…I promise you I'll make up for it, I'll treat you so well…"  
  
"No you won't, you fucking _won't_ because you won't get the opportunity." Billie responded, hands balled into tight fists at his sides. "We're leaving. You locked us in here, you and your…your children used me as a toy, something to-to _fuck_ and leave for the next person, it's sick…"  
  
Fink Two looked horrified.  
  
"I never meant for that, I swear to you I didn't! I wanted you to be happy! I thought if-if you were happy and I was happy, and we were together…" Fink Two struggled to find the right words. He looked down at his gloved hands and meshed his fingers together, looking back up at Billie, desperation radiating in his eyes. "Two halves of the same whole!"  
  
Billie stared at him, utterly incredulous.  
  
"You wanted back _in_?!"  
  
"NO! I meant that…didn't it feel better when we were together, and happy?"  
  
"How could you ever think I would be happy like this? Cooped up, locked in here like a fucking animal, a _slave_." Billie spat bitterly. "I need…we _all_ need the outside, we all need air, and light, and life, family, friends…love. I have a wife that I _love_ , you know that, you loved her too once - and she loves me."  
  
" _I_ love you!" Fink Two cried, clasping his hands over his heart as if it would give his words more gravity. "Not…not in a romantic sense, not in a sexual sense, not even in a brotherly sense…there's something so, so much deeper than that, something that hurts when you hurt, feels joy when you feel joy, cries when you cry - can't you feel it? _I_ love you in a much deeper way than anyone else ever could…doesn't that mean anything to you?"  
  
Billie gritted his teeth, despising the guilt trip he felt was being laid on him.  
  
"Love? I don't even know what day it is, what week it is, how long we've been here…and you think I would even allow myself to feel anything for you? You thought this would make me _happy_?" Billie paused, voice dropping. "How was that ever a possibility?"  
  
Fink Two's eyes widened, shaken by Billie's words - words that precisely echoed Fink One's hours before. He shook his head slowly, mouth forming words but voice not forthcoming. He reached out to Billie but withdrew his hand again, by now almost afraid to touch him.  
  
"I TRIED my best to keep you happy…" he whined. "I gave you so much, I never meant for Fink One to--"  
  
The demon trailed off again, eyes glazing a little as he shook his head, momentarily dazed. As he winced, hand to his head, Billie eyed him warily.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"M-my head…it feels…"  
  
The sound of someone clattering up the staircase silenced whatever Fink Two would have said. The gathered men turned to see Balducci leaned through the doorway, looking stricken beneath his white mask.  
  
"Fink, come here, you need to see this!" he exclaimed urgently. "I-it's the Finks!"  
  
Momentarily forgetting Billie, he pushed past his twin and friends, towards his bandmate on the staircase, concern lighting up his hazel eyes.  
  
"Balducci, what…"  
  
"I'm sorry." Balducci replied hoarsely. Fink Two felt his stomach turn at Balducci's tone.  
  
Mike, Tré and Billie exchanged confused looks, before the guitarist walked after the demon. His bandmates turned to follow. Fink Two reached to top of the staircase and looked down. He clapped his hands over his mouth and fought against a horrified shriek.  
  
The Finks - every single one of them - lay strewn around the main floor like some shimmering carpet, mostly still. Either dead or dying.  
  
Fink Two's painted eyes were like saucers, travelling around the floor and trying to take in the horrible scene before them. He choked on his breath, his words, and stumbled backwards into Billie. The other man barely even noticed, also staring down, along with his bandmates, at the terrifying stillness below.  
  
"Shit…" he breathed in morbid wonder. On noticing Fink Two pressing back against him, he pushed the demon forward, away from him.  
  
After a few moments of gaping silence, Billie shook his head suddenly, looking down at his feet. Mike looked dour.  
  
"Guess you weren't as adept at cloning as you thought." he murmured to the aghast Fink Two.  
  
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Balducci rounded on the bassist.  
  
"They're all clones of, like, half a person, right?" Tré answered for him. "Bodies couldn't hold up to that sort of shit. Not for too long."  
"Their organs must've just…failed." Mike added quietly. Half-people or no, they had still been humans. Humans with Billie's face, no less. This was…God, it was mind-blowing and terrible all at once. "It's like a fucking apocalypse…"  
  
"C-c'mon." Billie muttered, grasping at Mike's sleeve. The bassist too tore his eyes away, hooking his arm in Tré's as he moved away.  
  
As the three of them headed down the stairs, Balducci spotted them and grasped Fink Two's shoulder.  
  
"Fink, they're running, let's…" he paused, seeing the transfixed, horrified look on Fink Two's face. He didn't think the demon had even heard him. "Fink…?"


	5. …All I Really Believe In Is You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song used in this part is "If I Can't Be Yours" by THANATOS.

_I know, I know I've let you down, I've been a fool to myself  
I thought that I could live for no one else  
But now, through all the hurt and pain, It's time for me to respect  
the ones you love mean more than anything…_  
  
Van Gough's voice rang out over the intercom, alerting the rest of the Network as Mike, Billie and Tré reached the ground floor.  
  
"Don't let them get out!!"  
  
"Fuck…" Mike growled, pushing his bandmates towards the door. "Go, I've got something to deal with…"  
  
"Mike-!" Tré exclaimed, stumbling over the Fink bodies at their feet. He was about to protest further, but on swinging around and seeing the dark look in the bassist's eyes, he thought it better not to. As Mike turned away, Tré wrapped an arm around Billie's shoulders and pulled him into action. "C'mon, Bill, we're almost free…"  
  
Ah, what a jinx. No sooner had the words left Tré's mouth that both of them had been tackled to the ground by Z, Balducci, Captain Underpants and The Snoo. Tré squirmed desperately against the clawing hands, eyes flicking around for Mike, he and Billie outnumbered and about to be dragged back to captivity - but the bassist was gone.  
  
As Van Gough had appeared, running for Tré and Billie, Mike had risen out of nowhere and brought a fist crashing into the bandaged man's cheek. He followed it quickly with a blow to the gut, powering forwards until both of them were tangled together and careening backwards, crashing through a door. Mike managed to regain his footing, shoving Van Gough away from him hard. His twin grunted, his back meeting something hard and cold. Something metal. As Mike straightened up, a grim look settled in his blue eyes, he saw Van Gough slumped against the gas heater, shaking his head to clear the stars. The rickety thing had been dented from the impact, rusted side splitting open. A soft hiss could now be heard coming from the cracked unit.  
  
Van Gough blinked a few times, jaw throbbing, and looked to his side, seeing the busted metal and the air that swirled by it. He clapped a hand over his mouth and nose, gaze swinging around to glare at his twin.  
  
"Look what you did, you-"  
  
He stopped abruptly. Mike had backed away, looking down at Van Gough with comfortable derision.  
  
"You asked me something a while ago. If I ever thought that maybe, out of the two of us, I'm the one who shouldn't exist."  
  
Mike dug in his pocket as he spoke and pulled something out.  
  
His lighter.  
  
Van Gough's eyes widened as Mike flicked the wheel, orange flame sparking into life.  
  
"You wouldn't fucking dare…" he hissed.  
  
"No, I haven't." Mike continued quietly, eyes dark. "But either way - I guess we'll never know."  
  
Then he drew back and threw the lighter at the leaking heater. Van Gough only had time to scramble to his feet before the leak caught. Mike dove out of the doorway, shielding himself behind the wall as the heat rushed towards him, light blinding. The very foundations trembled beneath his feet as the roaring explosion took the entire room, setting the surrounding area aflame. The wall behind Mike shifted, and he looked around to see the thing had cracked and was slowly coming down. Mike barely had the time to get out of the way before it fell, sending off embers and flames to catch on wood, on fabric…on hair. The bassist looked away.  
  
Tré, Billie and the remaining members of the Network froze at the sudden noise, wide eyes turned towards the noise.  
  
"Oh my God, our home!" Z exclaimed hoarsely, distraught.  
  
Next thing he knew, Mike was on him, diving into the fray to tear his friends free before the whole place burned down. Soon he was swallowed in a mess of vinyl, fishnets and colour.  
  
Fink Two, meanwhile, had staggered down the stairs, seemingly totally oblivious to the brawl going on. His eyes roved around the bodies surrounding him, a still sea of red vinyl and stripes, hands to his head and moaning plaintively.  
  
"My boys…my boys…"  
  
As Billie's attention was on trying his level best to keep from being choked or pinned by a mustard yellow arm, he failed to notice that one member of the Network was still absent. Not for much longer. Suddenly clawed hands, nails lacquered black, fastened onto his shoulders and dragged him from the mêlée, hurling him to the ground. Fink One hunched over him, maskless, eyes too bright and looking like death walking - skin a grey pallor, clammy, sweating and sick as hell. His trembling form was framed by the advancing flames. Billie shrank back and stared up at him almost in terror for a few moments. A barely human rasp crawled from the demonic clone's throat.  
  
"I gave you pleasure like you never thought possible, you ungrateful--!"  
  
Tré cried out, seeing Fink One looming over his bandmate, but could do nothing, pinned as he was by his own exorcised psychopath.  
  
"BILLIE-!"  
  
"Billie?!" Mike echoed, unable to see from his position, elbow at Balducci's throat and trying to hold off Z and Captain Underpants.  
Neither need have worried, though. Suddenly Billie surged up and pushed Fink One to the ground, the two of them falling in a heap.  
This time it was Billie's turn to let out an unearthly shriek.  
  
"YOU FUCKED MY WIFE!!"  
  
The words hadn't even left his mouth before he was tearing into Fink One, ripping his clothes, raining down punches, spitting curses, lithe, wiry, damaged body trembling with fury. Fink One fought back vainly, but in his weakened state he could do barely more then shield himself from the enraged attack. He managed to break away and roll to a stop on his hands and knees, clothing hanging in tatters from him, clutching at his chest again. He felt himself resting against something and looked around to find sightless, identical eyes from a dead Fink staring back at him. He shivered, unnerved, and unwillingly realised that his fate was sealed. He forced his gaze back around to Billie, who was holding off while he regained his breath. The demon glared bloody murder at his supposed ‘father'.  
  
"I was a part of you!" he hissed hoarsely. "Everything I have ever done could have been a product of your mind, don't you forget that!"  
  
Billie straightened up, eyes hollow, wiping at trickles of blood from re-opened wounds on his neck and shoulders.  
  
"Was. Was, Fink, not now - not ever." he murmured hollowly. He held up his bloodstained hand. "This blood…it's mine. It flows different now. I breathe different, I think different, all because the part of me that may have done or said terrible things…the part that I hate…" his eyes burned. "Is lying at my feet. Dying."  
  
Fink One opened his mouth to retort, but instead doubled over in pain, body going down like a lead weight and curling into a ball.  
  
Billie threw one last hateful look down at the demon before turning his attention back to the brawl.  
  
"Go for the door!" Mike yelled, still fighting off two Networkers and trying to edge them away from the ever advancing flames.  
  
Billie hesitated, seeing how overwhelmed his bandmates were, but eventually obeyed. He ran, leaping over the bodies strewn before him and trying not to think about what they were. Who they were. He reached the door, his hands shaking terribly as he fumbled with the lock, so desperate was he to escape.  
  
"Fuck…fuck…fuck…" he hissed, lump forming in his throat as welling panic and self-loathing told him he'd never get the lock undone. Eventually, he managed it, the yells of his bandmates tearing his attention away from freedom. He turned to run back and help them, but instead ran straight into Fink Two. The demon grunted, looking up and focussing on him. His painted eyes went wide and almost terrified as he clutched desperately at his twin.  
  
"You can't go, you can't leave me, my darling little boy…please, please, don't go, I'm sorry!"  
  
Billie, unnerved, fought to free himself.  
  
"Get off of me, let me go, you fucking--" he cried shrilly.  
  
Fink Two refused to be shaken off, only clinging on to both of Billie's arms and pulling him close. Billie froze like a deer in headlights as those hypnotic eyes came so close to his, that warm breath that hitched terribly ghosting over his face.  
  
  
 _I wish that I could turn back time, cuz now the guilt is all mine  
Can't live without the trust from those you love.  
I know we can't forget the past, you can't forget love and pride  
Because of that it's killing me inside…_  
  
  
Fink Two's voice dropped to a wavering murmur.  
  
"My sweetcake…please believe me, if I'd have known how you were being treated…a-all those Finks, they were all meant to be gifts for you, to make you happy…" he pleaded. His gloved hands drew along Billie's arms to clasp his hands. "God, If I'd only known, I never would have let anybody near you. All I ever wanted was to make you happy."  
  
Billie didn't try to tear away anymore. He clenched his jaw, staring back at Fink Two and speaking with an equally unsteady voice.  
  
"Then why did you lock me up?"  
  
Fink Two opened his mouth to speak, finding nothing to say. Only now was he being made painfully aware of his mistakes.  
  
"I…I needed you. I need you." he said hopelessly. "I didn't want to grow apart from you again, I didn't want to lose you…I…" he pressed their hands to Billie's bare chest. "Nobody knows me better than you…and nobody knows you better than me. We need each other."  
  
Billie's resolve of hatred against his exorcised demon was breaking. Slowly but surely. He felt that lump in his throat grow larger as he rested his forehead against Fink Two's, his eyes on their tightly entwined fingers. He shook his head a little.  
  
"I don't know you. I don't know you at all." he breathed. "Because when you were a part of me, I didn't even know myself. I think you were expelled from me for a reason, Fink."  
  
By now, Fink Two was trembling uncontrollably, desperation swallowing any rationality. He'd barely even noticed the now raging fire that was slowly engulfing his home.  
  
"And I think I came back to you for a reason…" he swallowed, freeing one hand to cup Billie's cheek. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…your happiness meant more than anything to me, it really did. Because then I'd be happy."  
  
Billie felt utterly miserable and totally at a loss for what to do. The warmth of Fink Two's hand on his face, the desperate sadness in his eyes, and the undeniable memory that yes, at one point they were happy, wrapped up in each other and drenched in the most glorious pleasure they'd ever experienced…it all made it incredibly difficult to hate his persistent devil.  
  
The cries of his by now exhausted bandmates reached his ears again, and he weakly tried to pull away. Fink Two gripped Billie's hand a little harder, looking more and more panicked with each passing second.  
  
"S-sweetcake, I'm so sorry, y-you can't leave me, I need you…I adore you…!" his voice rose until he was damn near wailing, fighting to keep hold of his twin. "Th-there's a voice in my head and my heart that calls me to you, you can't…you can't go, PLEASE--"  
  
Billie managed to pull free, stumbling away from the near hysterical Fink Two, stricken gaze on the demon. He mumbled a repeated, wavering monologue as he backed away.  
  
"I have to…I have to…I have to…"  
  
As Fink Two swung to claw for him, he saw Fink One a few feet away, curled up on his side, trembling violently and looking close to death.  
  
"Oh my God…no…" the demon sobbed, hands clasping over his face as he rushed to the fallen clone's side, leaving Billie to go aid his bandmates.  
  
  
Mike and Tré, though exhausted, were stunned they'd held their own for so long. However tough they thought they were, four against two were not good odds. Mike felt like some kind of berserker, tearing at clothes and throwing wild punches wherever he could. At one point, he caught hold of Balducci's head, ripping his mask in two. Mike froze as the mask fell from his head, aghast at the familiar face that greeted him.  
  
"Jason?" he cried.  
  
Balducci wiped a smear of blood from a cut beneath his eye. Blue eyes that were darker than Mike had ever seen.  
  
"Jason's better half…" he growled, launching at Mike again. Suddenly Billie was there, all too bright eyes and guttural snarl, latching onto the purple vinyl clad back and wrenching him away.  
  
Tré meanwhile had his knee pressing hard into the Snoo's stomach, unable to push him away due to the drummer-strong fishnet wrapped arm around his neck. The two of them grunted and growled, one clinging tight, the other pushing with all his might. The Snoo's fiendish grin bore down on Tré, framed by the rising flames behind them.  
  
"C'mon, Tré…" the ex-wrestler growled, voice tight with the exertion of pinning his twin down. "We both know there's a kinky sonofabitch in you that's desperate for me. Desperate to get Bullwinkled just one more time. Desperate for that corset again. Desperate to die feeling the most intense high of your life - with me."  
  
Tré shuddered, putting more force into pushing the Snoo away from him.  
  
"You're one sick fuck--" he rasped.  
  
The Snoo's tongue flopped out, drawing lazily up Tré's cheek.  
  
"And you adore me."  
  
Tré cursed spectacularly, bringing his other leg up to kick into The Snoo's chest, the force just enough to prise the ex-wrestler off. He scrambled to his feet, glaring at his double.  
  
"You're the kind of psychopath I hope I'll never be." he murmured hollowly.  
  
  
Fink Two fell to his knees at his clone's side, pulling him up into his lap and cradling him like a child. Tears sprang to his eyes as he looked down at the face that just seemed to be…fading away. He wrapped his arms tighter around Fink One.  
  
"What's happening…" he whined, looking around at the bodies, the fire, the fight… "I didn't want this, this wasn't my intention…"  
  
Fink One, wracked with intensely painful spasms throughout his body, growled under his breath.  
  
"Idiot…" he croaked.  
  
Fink Two looked down again, wiping the cold sweat from Fink One's grey brow and cheeks, bending his head to plant kisses at the ailing devil's lips.  
  
"You look exactly the same…but nothing like him…" Fink Two whimpered. He swallowed, continuing to kiss Fink One. As if it might fix him. "Please don't die, please, Fink, please don't die…"  
  
Fink One's barely open, clouded hazel eyes rolled to look at his twin directly. His faint voice dripped with derision.  
  
"He'll never accept you now…he'll never need you like you need him…idiot…"  
  
Fink Two shook his head, beginning to rock Fink One back and forth, the tears now streaming down his face. Fink One shuddered once, violently, hands at his heart, then lay still. Fink Two sobbed quietly and continued to hold and rock the motionless clone.  
  
  
 _It all returns to nothing…  
It all comes tumbling down, tumbling down, tumbling down…  
It all returns to nothing…  
I just keep letting me down, letting me down, letting me down…_  
  
  
Perhaps it was the feel of the flames stroking at their heels, the smoke pooling lower and lower, or the worrying creaking noises around them, but suddenly Billie, Mike and Tré were not only holding their own, they were beginning to win. All of them were rolling and scuffling closer and closer to the door, and with each punch thrown, one Networker stayed down a little longer. As the entire group paused for breath, glowering at each other doggedly like in some Mexican standoff, the scream of tyres could be heard over the roaring flames. Seconds later, the door crashed open. Mike spun around, relief flooding his face.  
  
"Jason!"  
  
The guitarist fell back a little, a rush of heat swirling around him. He shielded his eyes from the bright flames.  
  
"Guys?!" he yelled.  
  
The rest of his bandmates turned, weak smiles blooming over their faces. Not even giving the remaining members of the Network another look, they ran for him.  
  
Captain Underpants began to give chase, yelling to their leader.  
  
"Fink, they're…"  
  
He slowed to a stop on setting eyes on Fink Two. Still sat in the middle of the room. Cradling the body of Fink One and sobbing brokenly into his chest. Z, Balducci and The Snoo came up behind their mustard suited bandmate, who sighed deeply at the sight.  
  
"Fuck…" he murmured sadly.  
  
Their eyes turned to watch Billie, Mike, Tré and Jason flee, remaining where they were.  
  
Jason stared at his bandmates as each of them passed him, each of them wounded and battered in various ways. Then he turned to look at the besuited, equally torn up members of the Network, eyes coming to rest on the maskless Balducci. His eyes grew wide.  
  
"Wh-what the fuck--"  
  
Tré's hand came to rest on his shoulder.  
  
"Man, don't even ask…" he murmured, shaking his head, before continuing out.  
  
After a moments more incredulous staring, Jason decided that no, he probably didn't want to know.  
  
Fink Two finally looked up from the body in his arms to see his home emptying. He sniffed, usually perfectly painted eyes red and smeared, lay Fink One down and sloped up. He stumbled after the four men, Captain Underpants, Z, The Snoo and Balducci following after him, leaving their home to burn to the ground.  
  
Outside, the exhausted and wounded Mike and Tré eased themselves into Jason's car. Mike looked back to see the Network filtering out too, watching them leave. The bassist sank back into his seat, head falling back. He eyed the other band as he called out.  
  
"I hate to bring out such a cliché, but this town obviously ain't big enough for the both of us." he admonished wearily. "You'd better get yourselves gone while you still can."  
  
It was then he noticed that Billie hadn't gotten into the car. He stood outside still, looking back at the gathering outside the burning warehouse. Looking back at the dishevelled Fink Two. Mike raised his head.  
  
"Billie…" he called, urgency creeping into his voice.  
  
Billie didn't hear him. He continued to look at Fink Two. The demon before him was such an incredibly far cry from the Fink of old, the Fink he met backstage at that fateful L.A. show. The sleek, liquid-hipped, wickedly smiling creature seemingly from another world…there was nothing left of that now. The Fink Two of now was kneeling, shoulders hunched, arms trembling, rubbing fitfully at his head. Make-up in ruins, clothes all askew, stifling sobs, he didn't even seem able to maintain eye contact with his twin. He looked…broken.  
  
Billie stared at him.  
  
"Billie!" Mike's voice came, more urgent now. Still Billie ignored it.  
  
 _Broken…like I was. Did…did we do this to him? Did I do this to him? Does that make me as bad as them? Oh my God…  
I can't just…I can't…_  
  
The inferno crackled, somewhere in the distance a siren began wailing. Otherwise, silence. Fink Two looked at Billie pitifully, form framed and darkened by the growing blaze flickering into the black sky. His suit glinted, his eyes glistened wet. His shadow was thrown long across the ground, and it danced, just beyond Billie's feet. Devil's dance.  
  
Billie took a few slow steps forward, much to his bandmates dismay. They called to him, again receiving no reply, no acknowledgement. Fink Two's shadow rose up as he walked, the silhouetted form of his expelled demon crawling up his body. As it reached the crown of his head, a sudden breeze blew past him, swirling around him, threading through his hair like cool, ghostly fingers. It made his breath hitch and eyes close for just a moment, and he stopped. His gaze drew back to the identical hazels before him, smeared with black and watching him so mournfully.  
  
A devil gone down in flames.  
  
Billie wrapped his arms around himself again, gooseflesh rippling along his abraded, pale skin. He couldn't tear his gaze away. The fire reflected in his eyes.  
  
  
 _I just keep letting me down, letting me down, letting me down…_  
  
  
The sound of the doorbell echoed through the house, it sounded stifled. Like it knew it was past four in the morning and it really didn't want to disturb anyone. After a third ring, Adrienne scuffed down the stairs, pushing dreads out of her eyes and debating whether or not to greet the caller with a bucketful of cold water and potato peelings from the trash. The people she was least expecting to see as she swung open the door, however, were…right there in front of her.  
  
Mike and Tré stood there, looking shattered.  
  
"Wh…what are you guys doing back?" Adie murmured, mystified, peering at the bruises and cuts littering each man's skin. Concern welled up inside her. "Where's Billie?"  
  
"Sorry for waking you, we…haven't had much of a concept of, like…anything lately." Tré replied, casting a sideways glance at Mike. "He's here. But before you freak out, we gotta tell you that he's ok."  
  
Dread crept along Adie's skin, raising it into gooseflesh.  
  
"Oh, Jesus, what's happened?" she asked, voice wavering just barely, fingers curling into her dressing gown.  
  
The drummer and bassist exchanged a look before stepping aside. There, just beyond Jason - who, for the record, looked spooked - was her husband. Her hands flew to cover her mouth as she gasped.  
  
"Oh my God--!"  
  
He stood there, jacket draped over his shoulders, wearing nothing but vinyl pants and looking like he'd been beaten up. He offered her a small, relieved smile from discoloured lips. She pushed between Mike and Tré and ran to him, soft hands cupping his face, brown eyes alight with worry. He rested his head against her hand, eyes closing, impossibly grateful for her touch.  
  
"I'm fine, honestly…I'm just glad to be home, babe." he said quietly, voice cracked and tired. "But we all need to go inside, because…we've got a lot to explain. Especially…" he trailed off and looked down at his hands.  
  
Adie followed his gaze and noticed for the first time that there was a black cord in his hand. No, wait, not a cord…a leash. Shuffled footsteps reached her ears, and she looked up again.  
  
"Isn't that…" she began, casting her bewildered gaze over Billie's shoulder to a bedraggled, striped-masked familiar face. To the collar around his neck and the leash connected to it…held in her husband's hands. "Fink…"  
  
Fink, looking like he'd just crawled out of a gutter, raised his hand and gave a little wave. He seemed barely able to make eye contact.  
  
Adie looked back to Billie, opening her mouth to ask but finding all her questions so absurd she couldn't voice any of them. She looked back to Mike and Tré, who both averted her gaze. Then Jason, who honestly looked as baffled as she did. Her eyes returned to Billie again. He sighed softly.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Then he raised his hand to clasp hers briefly, before passing her and heading for the house, Tré, Mike and Jason already ahead of him. As Fink was tugged into motion and he passed her, he finally met her gaze.  
  
And if it hadn't been for the smeared black eye makeup, Adie would have sworn that his eyes were identical to her husband's…  
  
 _End._


End file.
